“Even better,” Cricket says. “I have a stash of that in my apartment. Be right up.”
“Fuck me,” Ten mutters. Then he grins. “Might as well though. Only get to pretend to be helpful for planning a wedding once. And if I’m hungover in the morning, Caro has to drive to the airport.”
To think I ever considered Cricket to be a mess.
She has nothing on Ten.
Never did.
She and Lav join us on the porch, Lav with flowers that she tells me she’s going to carry for the big wedding, Cricket with a pint-size bottle of tequila in one hand and a jug of margarita mix in the other.
“You gonna fake drinking this too?” Ten asks Cricket.
She grins. “Uh, yeah. Of course.”
I want to pull her into my lap and kiss her and hold her here with me and watch the sunset and talk to her and Lav about wedding plans and birthday party plans and dragons and ponies.
That?
That would be the perfect evening.
But what we have—this is pretty fucking good too.
Better than good.
It’s—fuck.
Shit.
It’s love.
That’s what this is.
I love my daughter.
I love my life.
And I love Cricket.
I smile to myself, knowing that all of myfucks andshits aren’t about being afraid. They’re not about a hard line I’ve drawn for myself about not dating.
They’re about how slow I’ve been to realize how much I’m madly in love with this woman who’s brought fun into my life while also being the friend I didn’t realize I needed.
She offers Ten the tequila bottle with a grin. “As ordered.”
“Fuck me,” he mutters.
“No, thank you,” she replies.
Lav squints at her.
And me?
I snicker, then grin at Cricket.
MyCricket.
My unexpected, gorgeous, funny, smart, big-hearted Cricket.
